Still Life with Mackerel

Three mackerel look back at me
Forlorn, neglected, oh-so-slightly crazed,
And petrified against all atrophy

In knifed-in oils. If those eyes could see,
They’d see their nemesis. Amazed,
Three mackerel look back at me

The way they always do. “Philosophy
Be damned,” the fishes say, forever glazed
And petrified. “Against all atrophy

You thought to catch us back to life and free
Us to an endless stream of Saturdays.”
Three mackerel look back at me

Like albatrosses. “How’s the family?”
Neglected, I admit. The bastards phrased
That perfectly. Against all atrophy

I’ve scumbled at some artist’s legacy
Of living things, and look at what I’ve raised–
Three mackerel looking back at me,
A palimpsest in crusts, a fucking trophy.